


The Altmeri Bard’s Guide to Wooing Breton Dragon(born)s

by revontulets



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Cum Play, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/M, Frottage, Height Differences, Impregnation, Light Angst, Praise Kink, Slow Burn, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-06 23:24:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14658399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revontulets/pseuds/revontulets
Summary: Sunny the Golden Bard has been in search of two things since he first left the Summerset Isles: to be the greatest bard in Tamriel and to start a family. When Dragonborn Odette Thybault comes to him in search of help on a quest, he thinks he's found the answer to his prayers. All he has to do is survive the quest and convince Odette that he's the man for her.Easier said than done.





	1. The Preface and Disclaimer

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for a skyrimkinkmeme prompt: https://skyrimkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4670.html?thread=13650494

The Four Shields Tavern was a cozy and dry refuge from the storm outside. Everyone was thankful to be inside and away from the winds were as fierce as the heavy rains that pelted down over Dragon Bridge.

Every so often, wine trickled from Faida’s carafe and out into goblets for a few weary travelers. Many patrons warmed themselves up by the fire. The ones scarfing  down food like no tomorrow needed to thank Julienne for the savory slaughterfish stew and goat cheese dumplings they were gorging themselves on. Even if they didn’t, Sunny was certainly going to.

As he washed down the last of his dumplings with mead, he searched his mental catalog for an appropriate song to play. Throughout most of the night he’d performed well know jaunty tunes in hopes of raising everyone’s spirits, but it didn’t appear to be helping. There was a lethargy that clung to the tavern patrons like their damp clothes. He wondered if Faida would mind if chose a set of slower songs if he switched to his flute.

As Sunny moved to get up from his seat, the tavern door swung open with a powerful bang. All eyes turned to the doorway as a sopping wet cloaked figure burst through, slamming the door behind them. The low chatter in the room ceased as the new arrival tramped across the room to Faida. Curiosity wrapped around him like a vine as he took in their short, oddly misshapen figure. The two large humps pressing up from their back reminded him of covered hay bales. Tensions eased as the other patrons turned back to their food and hushed conversations. Sunny watched the newcomer slide a small bag of coin to Faida before trodding back to one of the open rooms.

By the end of the hour a tow headed little boy and his grandmother were the only patrons still in the great room. There was a haggard warmth to her that made Sunny ache for a time long ago, before he left the Summerset Isles. She requested lullaby after lullaby and Sunny sang them with a quiet joy. They were soft songs that eased his homesickness. She offered a few pieces of coin, but he could not accept it. The grandmother’s grateful smile as she carried the sleeping boy away was more than enough payment for Sunny.

Just as the grandmother slipped down the dim hallway, the newcomer reappeared in a new, dry cloak. This new cloak was a deep gray with a hint of green that reminded him of the ominous storm clouds he saw earlier that afternoon. The stranger wasted no time grabbing up an entire bottle of wine and a plate of assorted cheeses, fruits and breads from Julienne. Though the ache of the day seeped into his back, Sunny couldn’t quite let his curiosity go unsated as he watched the hooded figure bring the goblet up to their shadow covered face.

With no concerns about the reaction of his audience, he decided to play the Dragonborn Comes. It was a song he enjoyed but rarely played as no one requested it. Though he’d never met the Dragonborn, he had heard of her many good works and seen the aftermath of her heroic feats. Once, while on his way to a wedding in Riverwood, Sunny had seen the charred remains of a giant. The locals attributed its slaying to the Dragonborn herself. She breathed fire and rained down lighting like it was nothing at all, they’d told him. Sunny had been torn between being disappointed that he missed a fantastic display of magic mastery and relieved that he did not end up in the crossfire.

He could handle his own with a bit of fire and ice, but he doubted he would ever have the ability to slay a Giant on his own. That was something that was reserved for warriors like his brother Cal and the Dragonborn. Sunny’s place was off to the side as a witness to their heroics so that he could sing of their legendary acts.

As he began the song, he saw the shadowy blob of the newcomer's head turn abruptly from their plate to face him.  He sensed that this newcomer had a story to tell about the Dragonborn and he couldn’t wait to hear it. As if lured in by his thoughts, the newcomer stood up from their seat near the hearth and drew closer. Sunny couldn’t help but smile as he moved to the second verse.

Reinvigorated with energy from the newcomer’s attention, Sunny decided to try something he’d been practicing for a long time now: singing verses in dragon language. He closed his eyes as he belted out the lyrics taught to him by an old Nord he’d met in Dawnstar sometime ago. He could never claim to be an expert as he didn’t know much of the dragon language. But he was knowledgeable enough to translate a few songs.

The cloaked newcomer stopped in their tracks the moment the first Dragonish word flew from his lips. Then slowly, yet surely the newcomer moved in closer, step by step by step, until they were an arm’s length away from him. Though he still could not see a face in the hood’s inky darkness, there was something exhilarating about this strange patron’s attentions. Heat suffused his cheeks as the song went on. He felt like a roaring flame to a luna moth under this stranger’s hidden gaze.

Once the last note died on his lips the stranger pulled their hood back to reveal a face.

A very pretty face.

A very pretty face with the most enchanting dark eyes Sunny had ever seen.

His breath caught in his throat as he took in the light brown skin, full lips and heart shaped face of the patron before him. So much about her was dazzling, but it was those dark green eyes framed by sooty lashes that he found himself focusing on. They were the eyes of a hunter, gleaming with deadly serious focus and precision. They juxtaposed sharply with the soft fullness of the rest of her face, but it made her all the more enchanting to look at.

His eyes dropped down to her lips as the tip of her pink tongue slipped out wet them.

“ _Fahliil mindoraan Dovahzul_.”

His mouth dropped open in shock. Of all the things he expected to hear from her, dragon language was not one of them. He racked his mind for a translation. _Fahliil_ he knew was the word for elf, _Dovahzul_ meant dragon language and _Mindoraan..._ he wasn’t familiar with. But if he had to venture a guess, she was saying something about him knowing the dragon language.

“ _Geh_ ,” he replied. That was the only word that he knew meant ‘yes’ in dragon language. “But very little,” he added quickly. “I know enough to translate my songs but that's unfortunately the extent of my education, my lady.”  

If she was disappointed by this, he could not tell. The look of keen focus on her face did not waver.

“My apologies, I assumed that you had learned the language over the course of your years.”

He chuckled at that. “Oh, if only that were the case. I’m afraid that I’ve only known it for a few months of my 75 years of living. Toward the middle of Evening Fire an old Nord in Dawnstar traded words for flute performances.”

That earned him an almost imperceptible wrinkle in her brow.

“An old Nord in Dawnstar you say. Do you recall the name of your tutor?”

He frowned as he tried to remember what his tutor’s appearance, but found himself at a loss.

“Never gave one, and I didn’t ask. Just one of many old Nords passing through.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Hm.”

He swallowed harshly as her gaze swept over him. He was clueless as to what she was looking for, but it both excited and unnerved him to have maintained her interests for long. Reaching back, he eased himself down into the seat behind him as a sudden dizziness swept over him.

“You should rest now,” she told him. “We will talk in the morning. Goodnight bard.”

He stumbled in the wake of the abrupt end of the moment. “A-ah yes, goodnight my lady.”

* * *

Sunny began the next day as he usually did in the Four Shields Tavern: terribly regular and dreadfully routine.

He ate a bowl of boiled oats flavored with honey and cream, continued writing a letter to his nephew Aesril, and brewed an earthy, bitter tea to coat his throat. He was waiting for the tea to finish steeping in his mug when he heard a knock at his door. He quickly scanned the mix of floating leaves and bark in his cup, hoping to perhaps divine the identity of his visitor. He gave up at the sound of more tapping at his door and sighed as he stood. Sunny wasn't like his older brother Calcamar, he didn't have the talents for finding answers out in the world like he did.

“One moment please!” Sunny called out.

He pulled on a tunic and quickly tugged on the laces to cover most of his chest. He ran his fingers through his long, wavy white hair and pulled it over one shoulder. The last time Julienne had come by to ask about one thing or another he’d been half dressed, half awake and wholly amused by her stutter and stare.

“How may I help - oh! Good morning my lady!”

It was the mysterious, cloaked woman from the night before.

While she wasn't wearing a cloak, the high collared shirt, vest and leggings she did wear were all in shades of gray similar to her cloak. Her face was still every bit as alluring to him with her brown hair softly framing her face. The rest of her hair was pulled up into a crown of braids as it was last night, and held a healthy luster.

“How may I help you this fine morning? Is this about the dragon language?” He asked as she stepped into his room. Her graceful stride made his stomach roll up into knots.

She shook her head no as she made her way over to the instruments laid out on top of the dresser. She examined all of them closely, but took the most interest in the lute Aesril had bought him before Sunny left the Summerset Isles.

“Do you play my lady?” He asked.

Again, she shook her head no.

“Is this about a song then?”

There was a kernal of worry in the back of his mind that began to take root the longer he stared at her. The belt that sat low around her waist held no weapons, yet there was something about her presence that made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. It was as though the very air around her was primed to strike him dead.

She looked at him over her shoulder and gave him a small smile - barely a twist of her lips.

“I have searched far and wide for the perfect bard to assist me on a quest. After hearing your voice last night, I believe you are that bard,” she told him.

Sunny perked up from the wall he’d leaned against. A quest? Him, the perfect bard?

“What sort of quest?” He asked.

“The kind where I pay you 5,000 septims to sing a lullaby to a dragon.”

He choked on air.

“I-I’m sorry my lady, could you repeat -”

She turned to face him fully as she pulled a parchment sheet from a bag on her belt.

“I will give you 2,500 septims today if you say yes. The other half will be given after the dragon is asleep. I will also cover all lodging and dining expenses in addition to giving you a one fourth share of any loot we come across during this journey.”

Though one could not see it in the sheen of his pale gold hair or the fine stitching of his clothing, Sunny was barely getting by. After his disinheritance and the fall out with his cousin Palith and that assassination attempt nonsense with Uncle Farcaano, he was surviving solely on what he earned playing in taverns and events hosted by the wealthy. He missed having his own home, his own bath, a fine steed, and no worries about meals.

5,000 septims and whatever he made from selling that loot would keep him comfortable for a very, very long time.

Auri-El keep him.

“Well then… I’m assuming you want the lullaby sung in dragon language.”

She gave him another small, barely there smile.

“There are four verses in dragon language you will need to master. But judging from what I’ve seen already, this will be no great challenge for you. We will also need to retrieve a harp crafted by the Snow Elves, but that will be simple enough.”

His heartbeat thrummed like a war drum the more she spoke of the journey they would take. Bold and adventurous with the eyes of a hunter, who was this woman? He needed to know more.

“And just how large will your party be for this quest?” He asked.

“Large enough,” she replied, as though it was unimportant. “Will you join me?”

She was dangerous, that much Sunny was certain of. She was a predator with all the grace and power that came with being one. And by the confident jut of her chin and regal set of her shoulders, she was aware and not ashamed of it. Everything in his being screamed to him to kick her out his room; to pack up his things and leave Dragon Bridge and take the road opposite of wherever she went.

A small, bold and quite frankly foolish part of him that sounded far too much like Cal’s voice told him to say yes.

So he did.

“Yes, I will join you.” He walked over to her and held out his hand. “My name is Sununturilorien Wintersong, known to Skyrim as the Golden Bard. But I prefer Sunny.”

She placed her hand in his. “Odette Thybault. I go by many names, but just Odette is fine.”

“I look forward to our adventure together Odette,” he replied. He held her gaze as he bent forward down and pressed a chaste kiss on her knuckles.

_Oh, shit._

Fear unfurled in his belly as he jerked away from her. He’d done it out of habit, without truly thinking of who he was with. She wasn’t a bored Imperial legion quartermaster’s wife who wanted a song or a besotted milkmaid he needed to wheedle another block of cheese out of. She was dangerous, oh so very dangerous, and not someone he wished to upset with his careless flirtations. He slowly dragged his gaze up from the floor to meet her own.

Her eyes widened as her eyebrows shot up and -

- _oh shit, shit, shit._ He just kissed away an opportunity for an adventure and glorious coin and -

-she smiled.

The deep heat of embarrassment blazed across his face. He couldn’t very well be deathly afraid of someone who he was traveling with on such a dangerous journey. Even if she was dangerous, he needed to trust that she wouldn’t kill him for a silly thing like this.

“There’s a cave full of bandits not far from here that I want to take care of before we venture out. Prepare for the road and meet me in the stables at sunset,” she told him.

His heartbeat returned to a more normal pace when she bid him farewell.

He slumped into the seat at his table with a groan and placed his face in his hands. After calming down, he added a generous dollop of honey to his now lukewarm tea and wondered just what he’d signed himself up for.

His nerves grew as the pale gloom of the morning shifted into a murky afternoon light. By the time the light had begun to fade off into the foggy dark of evening, he was in a full on snit. He’d  packed, finished his next letter to Aesril, and bid farewell to Faida and Julienne. Yet there was still something itching, lurking, creeping, beneath the surface of his skin that made him restless. It was coiled at the back of his mind, muffled under song notes and chords, and tucked between old memories best left where they were.

Mystery hung in the air like miasma, and Sunny was determined to cut through it.

Dressed head to toe in the few black and gray items he owned, Sunny paced outside the only stable in Dragon Bridge. Every now and then he peeked around the corner to see which horse might belong to Odette. It was a small stable that could only house the 4 horses resting within it so there weren’t many options. He thought the dapple grey horse was too mild mannered to be the horse of a warrior, so he ruled it out immediately. The white maned piebald had a saddle too ornate and luxurious looking to be comfortable for long rides across Skyrim. The palomino pony grazing between those two horses was certainly not suited for Odette’s needs. Which left the pitch black horse resting in the last, dimly lit stall. It was very dark, and if not for the shine of the hanging lantern’s light on its studded bridle, the horse would’ve melted into the shadows of the stall.

Every time Sunny blinked he swore there was a blur around the black horse. Or perhaps it was a mist. He couldn’t quite tell being so far away from it. There was a foreboding aura around the beast that stopped him from going any further than the threshold of the stable. Beautiful and intimidating, he decided after a moment that it was the perfect mount for a woman like Odette.

“Is that your only bag?”

He yelped and spun around on his heels to find Odette holding a bulging traveling pack in one hand and a bright red apple in the other. He shook his head yes and clutched the stable door for support as he gathered his wits.

“Do you usually travel so lightly? I would’ve imagined that a bard would carry more than one bag.”

“‘s enchanted,” he gasped out.

She replied with a quick nod that he interpreted as approval before placing the apple in his hand.

“I need to introduce you to Shadowmere. Come along,” she beckoned.

Shadowmere was in fact the big black horse with the studded bridle. The horse’s red eyes he thought were a trick of the light turned out to be, well, really red. Bold, soul piercing ruby red.

“Good evening my dear Shadowmere, we have a new friend.”

Sunny couldn’t help but look at Odette in awe as the otherworldly beast affectionately nuzzled her outstretched hand.

She looked back at Sunny and gestured at the horse. “Give him the apple now and he’ll be good for you tonight.”

The horse turned his head so that one large red eye was focused on Sunny. He sucked in a deep breath and edged nearer to the stall with the apple balanced in the palm of his hand. He tried his best to not stare into the beast’s bright eye, but fear kept him from averting his gaze. Once he was at a reasonable distance for the horse to reach the apple, he stood still and waited. Shadowmere huffed and sniffed before he bridged the distance and snatched the apple from his hand. The apple was devoured in no time at all. The then horse neighed and leaned out over the top of the stall as if asking for more apples.

He felt both oddly compelled to give the horse more apples and terrified to know what would happen if he did so. Sunny raised up his empty hands and Shadowmere dismissed him with a flick of his ears and a huff, turning back to Odette in search of more apples. She gave him one bright green apple and a few gentle pats and strokes. When the horse begged for more, she denied him to Shadowmere’s great disappointment.

“I can’t have him too happy for the work we have to do tonight. He may be too hard to handle then,” she told Sunny lowly.

They hit on the road before the dark of night swallowed up the last streaks of pink and orange in the sky. Gusts of crisp air buffeted against them as they traversed up the muddy road to the cave. Though the winds weren’t quite as fierce as they were last night, being in the wide open sent a jolt of burning excitement through his body. Seated in the saddle behind Odette with his arms tight around her waist, Sunny felt like he belonged in Skyrim for the first time since he first arrived years ago. 


	2. Fall Head Over Heels for Her Greatness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the graphic violence warning starts. In this story, nothing gets too off the rails in that regard. I think the violence is pretty canon typical. Still wanted to give everyone a warning. I don't want to scare anyone who came in looking for sexy freak nasty and ended up reading gross freak nasty.

Wolfskull Cave was not what Sunny thought it would be. 

It was not like the dimly lit caves that his brother Cal had described to him in letters long ago. There were no hidden bear traps, dangling fire jars, or perilous swinging axes. There was, however, an abundance of rot. The fetid stench of it permeated the chilly air unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. Sunny buried his nose into the long braid he’d pulled his wavy white tresses into and held his breath, but nothing seemed to help. The lavender and heather scented oils he’d lightly combed through his hair weren’t nearly enough to cover the odor that stunk up the cave. 

In spite of the stench of death, it was a clean scene. There were no splashes of blood on the stone walls. No puddles of viscera staining the cold, dusty floor. Small glowing mushrooms cast a haunting light where torchlight could not breach the dark. The bread on the table was still soft and the potato soup in the cooking pot had not yet grown mold.

The bodies they found were slightly less pristine. Seated at the tables and tucked in bed rolls, their skin was mottled with tell-tale blue tinge of death. The whites of their open, bulging eyes were bursting with red. Even without the reeking stains of waste gathered around their lower halves, there was no doubt that the bandits were dead. 

He couldn’t tell how they’d died or how long they’d been rotting here in the chilly foothills just west of Solitude. But he did know that there were no living bandits to be found here. And it was possible that the culprit was still in the cave, waiting for adventurers like Odette and himself to stumble upon the gruesome tableau. 

The further in they ventured, the more eerie the stillness and silence grew to be. 

His ears grew hypersensitive to the sound of their muffled footfalls and his shallow breaths intermixed with the distant drip of water. He wondered how much further they could go before some odious creature popped out from the shadows to attack them.

Would it be draugr or perhaps a vampire? He could handle the former but would much rather avoid the latter. He shivered as he recalled a mercifully brief scare he had with  _ Sanguinare Vampiris _ during his first week in Skyrim. 

Before he could turn to Odette for her opinion, the silence shattered with a loud moan from deeper within the cave. A purple light flooded his line of sight and sent him tripping over his own two feet. 

“Necromancers,” she hissed as she dropped down to a crouch. 

Moans of the dead echoed around his head as he fumbled to right himself. 

Odette took off like a lightning bolt down the stone corridor, leaving Sunny scrambling to follow after her. The floor quaked and the walls rattled, spitting dust into his eyes. He ran blindly to crackling roar of spells and frenzied screams. Like storm winds to a sail, fear propelled acid up the back of his dry throat. He clipped a rocky corner with his shoulder and rolled onto the fringes of a wicked battle in the cavernous room. 

He crawled behind a boulder to watch the scene unfold before him. 

A pair of storm atronachs pummeled a handful of thralls to his right. Ozone filled his lungs as arcs of lightning shot up from the atronachs and danced across the razor sharp stalactites. With their axes and swords in hand, skeletons and oozing corpses hacked and slashed at the stone creatures. Lighting flashed again and again as the summons smashed the shambling undead into the floor with a sickening crunch. 

Sunny felt the impact in his teeth. 

In the center of room Odette charged at the necromancer with a blood curdling battle cry. She was a force of nature as she attacked her enemy with an axe in one hand and a fist full of frost in the other. Each swung of her axe landed true, drawing blood and screams from the necromancer. The necromancer’s fury gave way to wide eyed terror as Odette pressed on, carving her way through their meager defenses. 

The necromancer retreated, throwing blistering attack after blistering attack in their wake. Yet Odette’s ward prevaled, deflecting each hit as if it were a breeze. Sunny’s stomach flipped at the sight of the many gashes and scratches all over the necromancer’s arms glistening in the bright yellow light of the ward. 

The necromancer flagged and stilled for only a moment, but it was long enough opening for a wicked blast of ice to encase their legs. With a wild yell Odette swung her axe one last time, shattering the necromancer’s legs into dozens of pieces. 

Then, it was quiet again. 

Sunny approached Odette slowly, taking in the carnage she’d wrought. Bones were scattered all across the room. Rotten bits and pieces of bodies stuck to the stone walls and floors. Light glimmered in the swaths of blood and viscera painted between it all. 

The storm atronachs, the impenetrable ward, her refined  _ rage _ . A terrified sort of wonder fell over Sunny as he took in Odette’s blood splattered form. 

“Well,” he sighed. “That was -”

“A mess,” she muttered.

He made a show of looking around. “Ah, yes. A bit of one. Though, I’m sure it’s nothing bit of soap and elbow grease can’t fix.” 

She snorted as she nudged the necromancer’s body with her foot.

“It was a mess, but a fantastic mess.” He swallowed harshly. “I’ve never seen such a mastery of spellwork. Did you attend the college in Winterhold?” 

“No.”

His jaw dropped. 

“Did you have a mentor then?” 

“No.”

“Y-you’re self taught?” 

He winced at his incredulous tone as soon as the question left his lips. He couldn’t help it, he was astonished. He’d never seen someone so, so,  _ so fucking talented _ that hadn’t been through some sort of semi-formal tutelage. Sunny himself was hardly court wizard material and it’d taken several years with a determined tutor before he could reach a level of mastery acceptable to his father. He couldn’t imagine what kind of raw talent and power Odette possessed to showcase such an ability. 

“I’m just a Breton from the Reach, Sunny. I didn’t read books in some fancy tower,” she grunted as she pulled a belt loose. “It was me, my Ma, my Da, and my Nana in a shack. I’ve studied what I can, when I can, and I get help from those willing to give it.” 

Odette muttered to herself as she turned the necromancer on to their side. Her face twisted up into disgust as she pried a blood soaked coin purse from the necromancer’s belt. The six septims and the garnet that she shook out from the pouch earned an annoyed eye roll. 

“I doubt there’s anything worthwhile in this place, but you should start checking over there,” she said, waving vaguely to a corner with smashed corpses. 

He shelved the many other questions he had for later. He knew an order when he heard one. So with his hands protected by a pair of shabby leather gloves and his fragrant hair pulled further up against his nose, Sunny got to work. 

After an hour or so, they called it a day in the cave. They gathered up 600 septims, a handful of precious stones and gems, an assortment of ore, and a nice selection of mushrooms and other useful ingredients for alchemy. As they sorted through their findings, Odette refused all the septims he collected and gave him her own share. She called it an apology for rushing in and not letting him get a hit in during the fight. 

“It’s only fair,” she had told him. 

By the time they left the cave, it was snowing. But not even the cold could smother the flame of curiosity growing within him.

* * *

 

What started off as gentle flurries gradually morphed into a full on snow storm. Shadowmere was pissed. While Odette didn’t seem to care. 

And Sunny? Well Sunny had a bit of a problem with his… flute. 

He had hoped that it had just been the rush of the moment that had excited him, the high of victory heating his blood. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time for him. But this felt... different. Far, far, different. It was a bone-deep, magnificently heady rush of arousal that made his skin tingle with a need to touch and be touched. 

But he was more than just aroused, he was  _ ravenous  _ with desire. And it was all for the woman he had his arms wrapped around at the moment. 

He’d known her for less than a day, but he see that she was something special, something otherworldly. Odette was a fantastic mage that could give any court wizard a run for their septims. Intelligence simmered in the depths of her dark, focused eyes hinted at strategic genius. And divines keep him, her beauty robbed him of his breath. 

She was a self taught Breton mage.

She was a wickedly talented warrior.

She was the perfect woman to bear his children. 

And oh no, not just that. Their union wouldn’t be a one and done trist, they would build a proper  _ family  _ together.  As sure as he knew the sun would rise in morning, he knew she was the divinely created equal he’d yearned for - the perfect wife. 

The bitter cold winds did little to soothe his growing excitement. He sent out whispered thank yous to which divine being shifted a pouch on her belt to separate her backside from his rising prick.

Though he took great pride in the, ehem,  _ grandeur  _ of his member, this was not a good time for it. After killing necromancers and riding through the freezing cold of Skyrim, he couldn’t imagine an appropriate excuse to explain away his swollen member. 

Quite frankly, he didn’t want to see it quite yet. Perhaps, once she was ready for it, there would be an amorous foray or two that involved clothed frisky behavior. But he would resist the temptation to show off his cock for the sake of stroking his ego.

He wanted Odette to see the full extent of his glory after she’d begged and pleaded to be fucked. He needed her to be as hungry for him as he was beginning to grow hungry for her. Sunny wanted her to look at him with those fiery huntress eyes and demand that he fill her with his seed, over and over and over until she grew round with their babe and -

He swallowed harshly. He needed to get a hold of himself before he made a mess. 

The implications of coming in his pants while riding a horse were just enough to temper his amorous mood.  

After some time of riding through the snowy landscape, Odette gently nudged her elbow against his side to grab his attention. A sickly sweet perfume of blood on her person mixed up with his hair oil rushed over him as he leaned over to hear her. 

She pressed her masked mouth against his ear and said, “There’s a shack up ahead that I cleared out a bit ago. If it’s still vacant we can stop there for the night.”

By the time they got to the shack and unloaded their bags, Sunny’s rising excitement had flagged a great deal. The dying embers of his fiery desire were unceremoniously smothered by the hunger pangs in his belly. Doing anything with his prick was the last thing on his mind as he shooed away the wisps of sleep.

He sat on the edge of the bed in his damp, half frozen clothes and looked around the tiny one room shack in dismay. While he was grateful that the lone double bed had hay and furs covering it, they had no dry wood to burn in the small shack’s hearth. And his energy to explore this problem was leaching away as quickly as the feeling in his toes. 

Just as he feared his right foot would to turn into an icicle, Odette stormed into the shack. His concerns about firewood turned to ash on his tongue at the sight of her clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. Not a moment after rifling through several bags on careworn wood floor, she rushed back out again, muttering something about placing an enchantment around Shadowmere. 

Sunny stripped out of his wet clothes and bundled himself in a scratchy blanket from the bottom of his pack. Under the pale glow of magelight, he found a pair of oil lanterns to light with flint. He then pulled out their bed rolls and an assortment of road provisions.

A quick meal of honey, salty hardtack, spiced salmon jerky and tangy alto wine brought back some heat into his limbs. The food was very rich in flavor, so he couldn’t complain about not liking the taste. Yet there was just something strangely hollow about the whole meal that made him long for the comfort of tavern food. Oh what he would’ve given for a freshly baked jazbay crostata and a glass of warm milk. 

He was half way through his bottle of weak alto wine when Odette finally returned with a large blue kettle full of snow clutched in her hands. He sat up gingerly, his back aching from the long, cold ride. Propped on his elbows he watched as Odette set the kettle on the table. With her glowing red hands on either side of the kettle, she gradually warmed the container. 

Once the contents were steaming, she pulled a bar of soap and a rag from her pack. 

“You should go first,” she told him as she pulled a book from her pack. 

He blinked. “I’m sorry what?” 

Sunny shrunk back at narrowed eyes and curled lip she sent his way. It was a look that took him right back to his youth on Summerset Isles. And was not unlike the same look his nurse gave him every time he scuttled into his home after a field exploration with his tutor. 

“You’re not filthy, but you’re still dirty,” she said, as though it was the most obvious thing in Tamriel. “We were digging around bodies today. It may not be bad now, but it’ll be worse tomorrow if you don’t wash.”

He gave her a reluctant nod of understanding as he stood up, clutching the blanket wrapped around him. Odette gave him a stiff nod in reply and turned her attention to the book. 

“I’d rather not freeze my bits off to wash,” he muttered as he took a seat at the small table. 

Any further whining ceased the moment his hands breached the warm water in the kettle. He wet the purple rag and worked the bar of soap into it before working the rag over his hands and arms. The light color of the rag reminded him of ash yams, which in turn brought to mind a Dunmeri song about punishing lazy children by washing ash yams instead of letting them play. Sunny sang the song quietly as he worked the rag up his arms and over to his neck. He rinsed the rag and continued on to wash the grime from his face. When he slid part of the blanket off his chest, he closed his eyes and sang the song a little louder to distract himself from the cold air of the shack. He couldn’t care less about the temperature of the air with his focus on the perfect diaphragm position for the chorus. If he ignored the frigid cold biting at his chest, Sunny could imagine that this was any old night in the taverns he played in. 

It worked well enough until he opened his eyes and found Odette staring at him over top her book. A part of Sunny wanted to preen over the fact that he was a more enticing sight than - he squinted -  _ Atlas of Dragons _ . While another far wiser part of him wanted to investigate the cause of her interest - to discover what it was about him that intrigued her. 

Wondering if it was his hair, he moved his braid over from one shoulder to the other, but her eyes did not track it. Perhaps she was transfixed by his defined physique. He made a show of showing off his long, lean torso and his toned arms as he reached back to wash behind his neck. Again, her steady gaze did not falter and Sunny found himself at a loss.  

Feeling frustrated in more than one way, Sunny worked to quickly end this frigid air bird bath. He rinsed the rag and lathered it up once more to work on all the bits south of his belly button. With his body sufficiently cleaned, Sunny drew his song to a close and wrapped himself back up with the scratchy blanket. 

The more he bundled himself up, the more Odette seemed to come to.

He called out her name and she startled, dropping the book on to the table. 

“So, it turns out I was filthy,” he said as he slipped into a fresh pair of leather boots. “I’ll just pop out for a bit of fresh snow.” 

Odette nodded slowly, still a bit dazed. 

Regret smacked him in the face like a solid ice fist the moment he opened the door. He fucking  _ hated  _ weather in Skyrim. During his first year in Skyrim there were many a day that he woke up and wondered which Daedra he could sell his soul to get rid of the snow forever. Three years later, that sentiment hadn’t changed much. 

Under the waning light of Secunda, he tossed the dirty water in the frozen bushes and quickly shoveled in fresh snow with a tankard. He packed the snow in tight and piled more on top of that. Fueled by the threat of a runny nose and cold limbs, he rushed back in with the kettle and got to work warming it just as Odette had. 

Sunny wished his first tutor could see him now as he willed his magicka to the surface of his hands. In his youth, Illusion and Alteration were the schools of magic that Sunny excelled in. His skills in Restoration and Conjuration were adequate, while his Destruction spellwork had generally been a hopeless cause.

“How hot do you like your water?” He asked. 

“Boiling,” she replied. 

The swish of a flipping page quickly followed. 

Sunny grimaced as he slowed his breathing and focused on the heat in his hands. He bade his magicka to flow further to his hands and maintain its presence there. Casting fire spells always felt like he’d stuck his hands in a vase full of hot earthworms - unbearably warm, slimy, and teeming with energy. It felt like forever and a day passed until a slow simmer worked its across the water. He couldn’t stop his sigh of relief the moment rolling bubbles erupted to the surface. 

Not a second after he told her the water was ready, Sunny felt the fatigue of the day sink deep into his body. With his eyelids heavy with a desire for sleep and his back aching something fierce, he bid Odette goodnight and tucked into his side of the bed roll pallet. The bed itself was a tad bit too short for his long body, just as the roof of the shack was a bit too low. But the straw mattress was elevated off the wood floor and aided the fur and leather of his bed roll in keeping him warm. 

With the lantern lights still on, he found it hard to stay asleep. So he drifted in that hazy space between dreaming and waking. Swaddled in his blanket and plush furs, the harmony of howling winds outside and echo of Odette’s bathing inside provided the strangest sort of lullaby. 

Eventually the sound of water was replaced by the rustling of a pack being sorted through. Then came the rasp of clothing against flesh. Between the pitter-patter across creaking floorboards, he heard her blow out the lanterns. 

The gentle sway of the bed and the bloom of heat against his back was the last he knew before sleep claimed him.


End file.
